A Genius' Impediment Hindrance
by Lightning And Blossoms
Summary: Astrid seems to be the level headed backbone during the series. Where did she get her strength from, how did she get so attached to her faith? Astrid's life is not perfect because nobody's life is perfect; 'All the emotions spiked my veins and I finally spluttered into tears.' Note: Will contain her point of view through the Gone Series books, in my own style, of course.
1. Important To Read

Author's Note:

Hi!

Remember me?

No... Oh, that's okay. Well, I'm the person about to ask you a favour through the computer, or phone, or... whatever technology you're reading this through. I don't have another Gone Series fanfiction, but I came up with this story a few months ago. I even have the first two chapters written, but I was too paranoid to post it. And then today, I went back to the story and I got another idea. I kept the first two chapters, but I split the second chapter and decided I could continue the story through the Gone books!

What do I mean?

So, the fic was originally a two-shot, with this summary I was planning to post with: "Astrid seems to be the level headed backbone during the series. Where did she get her strength from, how did she get so attached to her faith? Astrid's life is not perfect because nobody's life is perfect. An already written two-shot about how Astrid grew up to be the teenager she is. 'All the emotions spiked my veins and I finally spluttered into tears.'" It spoke about some intense issues that teenagers deal with in the real world- and it could be triggering, which was why I was too paranoid to post this story.

I went back to the chapters, and edited them, and then I realised that I could continue the story through Astrid's point of view, and continue right through the whole Gone series as her point of view.

Basically, what I'm asking- is if you are interested. There's a catch though; and the catch is that Astrid is not exactly like she is in the original books, but by that I mean, that her past that I'm writing is one that probably isn't her past and it's one that would shock anybody as it could be unlikely for her. I mean, maybe- you never really can know what a person is dealing with, which was partly why I started writing this whole story in the beginning, because I wanted to show the message that you can't judge somebody without knowing their story AND that no matter what, there is always hope, there's always faith and people who care, I promise. Stay strong.

_Disclaimer for the entire story: _

Okay, first off- I've no idea what happens in Astrid's family and how are her family are like, so I could be completely wrong in my plot line. I was just being realistic in my own imagination- this is fanfiction, after all.

Second, this is going to be a bit of an intense fanfic just for the fact that it touches on questions everybody usually asks about without much of a clear answer. It touches on subjects that... Can be a bit sensitive. I'm sorry about that.

**Warning: **It will include self harm, depression, bullying scenes... Like I said, it will have sensitive issues included, which is why I'm warning you now, and asking if ANYBODY would like to read this story.

I was thinking that if anybody was interested, I'd present warnings of what could be in each chapter, at the beginning in an author's note, to prepare anybody? I don't know- what's your opinions? Please let me know in a review! I'd really appreciate it. I mean, I might just post this whole story eventually even if I don't get any reviews, but it's good to know what I'm doing right or wrong, or that I'm not just posting some story into the cyber world to be ignored...

_Note:_ If you ever feel bad, if you ever need to talk- just remember that you are not alone. Somebody cares about you, I promise, and if you don't believe me- you'll have to look for them, because I'm not lying. That's why I'm giving you this- please message the facebook page called: Stopping Teen Depression ツღ or Saving Humanity At Stake ツ If you need to talk to somebody, just message this page. It includes PRIVATE messaging and has a NO tolerance for judgement :') So don't worry too much about that xoxo I promise I know, because I've been an admin there for months.

I tried posting the web-addresses of the pages here, but... It kept getting erased when I saved the document *sigh* sorry.

_P.S._ No, I have not forgot about the other six fics I left un-finished. I WILL finish them! It was hard to get a decent chapter for most of my stories un-completed, and I'm sorry I've left some of you waiting three months... But, they are not abandoned! I just... I'm being infected by the plot bunny, right now- and I figured I could post this now and see what feedback I will (hopefully) receive on this!


	2. Chapter One: Desperate

**_A Genius' Impediment Hindrance_**

_Astrid seems to be the level headed backbone during the series. Where did she get her strength from, how did she get so attached to her faith? Astrid's life is not perfect because nobody's life is perfect; 'All the emotions spiked my veins and I finally spluttered into tears.' Note: Will contain her point of view through the Gone Series books, in my own style, of course. Paranoid about the rating._

This is the first Gone fanfic I've ever written. And it'll probably be the last unless I'd get a really good plot line from a sudden inspiration... And if I read the series again, since it's been a few months- WHY, LIGHT, WHY ARE YOU SO FAR AWAY FROM ME?

**_Chapter One: Desperate_**

Perfection. Was that what I wanted? Was it really what people thought of me?

I got used to it. 'Astrid the genius'... Just a label. I understood. Some said it with acceptance, some said it with just a point of fact... Some said it with ridicule, some said it as a tease... It just went off from there. And I got used to it. The name. The attitudes. All that matters- all that I let myself believe matters- was that at least it was fact.

I couldn't handle the death of my aunty two years ago, but my parents didn't seem to let it get to them. I hardly ever saw them fight loudly- it was always menacingly _soft_. I hardly saw my mum sob after her sister's funeral, hardly spoke after that- she slowly began to get more distant- and I couldn't tell if she had always been that way, because I was so young. My dad, however, seemed to take a different side. Gentle, unlike my mum's aggressive patterns. It was hard for me to take when he was bossed around by my mother.

I was scared, at first, just about the possibility of them getting a divorce...

I was just a kid; naturally I was scared of doing anything wrong. It became an addiction of mine to get good grades to cover it up. It started because I just wanted the peace at dinner, every evening, that started with a hopeful prayer; I found a adhere faith for myself... But, I wanted the _pretence_ to fade.

It started because I just wanted to see dad truly happy and to see mum stop stressing. I couldn't understand it, and I didn't want to deal with the drama.

It didn't take long for me to just avoid everything into work. And I got proud. Very proud- because I was improving even better and I became known as a genius. It got to a point where I stopped craving achievement and positive feedback: I just expected it. I liked being in control. I liked being an individual- and at first, it was a free feeling. After Little Pete turned three years old, he liked being around me more than mum because I was less tense. Felt independent because I could cope with my brother- he allowed me to continue trusting in love and faith. He taught me that, by first teaching me patience- or at least, a patience with him.

I'll always, always be patient for Petey.

When I was just about turning thirteen, the bullying started.

Because I was more outspoken. Because I loved the logic of situations, because history keeps repeating itself. For example, I started to get bullied, and it was always the same, _always_ the _same_. I hadn't really gotten affected by it because I was so engrossed in knowledge, at the time.

After months of attempted intimidation, and nights of having to care for Pete and having to avoid confrontation with my parents, having not really grieved for my Aunty Lisa... the repetition started echoing in my head. The perfection I was aiming for was brilliant and it was alive _inside_ my brain- but... I was feeling worse everyday. I stopped seeing a point to happiness and an actual reality, besides God.

I wanted to feel something real- instead of just blindly following society's standards and accepting a faith I was born into. I didn't want to question my faith, like most people do entering into teenage years... I had no problem with my faith. But I had a problem with myself; I was starting to actually listen to what people were saying about me. The knowledge was inspiring, the good grades was safe but... Was 'student' the only person I was? Was I only 'Astrid the Genius', a 'teacher's pet' with the 'ditzy blonde hair that's an offence to all actual blondes'?

I only felt happy around Little Pete, but after mum started getting guilty and mad that I was spending most times around him, I had to let go and do my own thing.

I started waking up early in the mornings to go for jogs. The jogs made me feel warmth at my cheeks when I carried on; made me feel like I was strong and needed. A pride I kept alive inside me, regardless of a reason I was desperate for.

I hadn't realised I was subconsciously listening to my classmates.

I continued to wake up even earlier via. each week, and carried on with the repetition of 'stereotypes' the need to be 'perfect' and strong. All the things my classmates listed. I wanted to feel pretty. I wanted to feel needed.

I remember finally crying at Little Pete about what my school thought of me, one afternoon: I asked him if I was pretty, I asked him if I was worth it- I asked him if I could dye my hair red- I thought for a long time about the colour black. And Pete could never reply back, let alone understand how deeply alone I felt.

Actually, I didn't really do anything for my appearances. To my school, I just seemed ignorant to all the snappy criticism. They backed off after a while. I guess they got bored. Nobody really cared- they wouldn't remember it when they go to sleep. To me, their faces and their voices are always at the back of my head. I felt like an outcast. It amazes me, today, how I held onto my faith the whole way through. I never thought of ending the pain permanently because things still mattered to me- family, school, faith...

I questioned who I was, though, and I started getting into bad thoughts and behaviour. I would crave getting drunk and not caring about the bullshit when coming home after school... but logically, I knew that would be damaging to my health, it wouldn't end well... And it's illegal... So I never touched it.

One day, when I came home from school, I was feeling worthless.

I had a maths test that day and I was so exhausted from waking up from a nightmare earlier than normal (then deciding that going for a jog that whole time before heading to school was a good idea to waste time) that I was getting blanks. I looked at the first question and seemingly out of nowhere, I wanted to cry. I couldn't. I hadn't cried in so long, I hadn't let myself feel too many raw emotions. But I held down my head, like always, and tried to solve problems, like always.

When I came home that afternoon, I realised 14 out of the 20 questions on that maths test; I hardly understood. The whole purpose of my hope was because of knowledge, because I was 'Astrid the genius' and I couldn't handle a simple maths test. All for nothing. I even studied nights beforehand.

_All for nothing?_

I didn't brace myself before walking through the front door.

I hadn't realised that my mum was home already.

And she was taking care of Little Pete, in the living room; and... She actually looked peaceful. Content. She was feeding him some food and laughed when she suggested out loud to taste it herself.

A rage filled me that I didn't realise I contained.

I tried so hard to keep this family together. Not to lecture dad, not to yell at mum when I thought she was being irrational... I took care of Pete; I had to grow up. My parents don't even know how I feel- didn't ask- didn't know what I've been going through, and yet, I've been almost begging for the same affection Pete is receiving now.

What did he do for it?!

I slammed my bag against the wall, seeing it scrape a little mark on the bland, plain paint. I thought I could let my rage overwhelm me completely not care and speak my mind honestly to my mother that minute... But the second I made that move of aggression, all the emotions spiked my veins and I finally spluttered into tears.

_A/N: The next chapter is ready. I like it better than this chapter, but I don't care about what I think- I care about what you think! Please take an extra minute of your life to give me feedback! I'd really appreciate it, and I'd upload the next chapter quicker as well! Thank you for taking the time to read this._


	3. Chapter Two: Raw Emotions

_A/N: I'm in the library, supposed to do my Biology homework. But I don't want to do so. I'd much rather rip a fingernail off. So, instead- here's the alternate: another chapter. _

**_Chapter Two: Raw Emotions_**

I slammed my bag against the wall, seeing it scrape a little mark on the bland, plain paint. I thought I could let my rage overwhelm me completely not care and speak my mind honestly to my mother that minute... But the second I made that move of aggression, all the emotions spiked my veins and I finally spluttered into tears.

The first reaction was Mum surprised, and taking Little Pete off her lap.

She walked towards me, careful at first- like I was fragile or ready to attack. Asked me if I was okay. And I replied, "of course I'm not okay if I'm acting the way I am!"

To be honest, I was even surprising myself at how I was acting. All manners and respect seemed to fly out the window in my despair, despite me trying to remind myself, reminding myself to remind myself...

"Sweetheart... Sweetheart... What do you mean?"

"Mum!" I gasped, the anger returned.

I was starting to realise my emotions were a bit unstable at that point.

"Did you even know I had a maths test today? Did you..." My voice trailed off, my breathing coming disjointed because of my crying. I hardly ever cried, I didn't like crying because it gave me headaches- but here I am, seemingly so willing to explode into emotions... And I didn't care. Why should I care, if my mum doesn't?

"No, I didn't. But... Did you fail it? Why are you crying?"

I groaned, "You _know_- You _know_ that we don't know the results _until two weeks after_ the test! You should remember that! I think I did fail, but. Because I'm hopeless lately. Does that matter to you? Did you just hear the part where I said I fai-"

"How do you know you failed, then?" Mum said, trying to be the voice of reason. Even smiled a little.

A little. A smile. She stayed a few steps back. Hovering. She was still being ignorant. She was only thinking of what she was taught mattered. She wasn't listening...

_Not. listening._

I took a deep, shaky breath, where I started crying again. How could I explain to her how I felt? My chest felt tight and I wasn't crying properly- it didn't feel like relief. It felt more like a heart attack, if I was to make irrational judgements. I was having so many thoughts flying in my mind, I didn't know how to speak- to form words in English. I thought about asking mum if she even cared about my results, if she cared if I was an alcoholic, if she cared that I was bullied, if she cared to listen that I believed that she was being self centred... That she wasn't being a great wife as she used to be...

I either couldn't bring myself to tell her, or my head was _literally_ spinning. Everything started speeding on time when mum paused- for way too long, a hesitation- before she stalked over and hugged me. The hug didn't make me feel secure or comfortable, instead, it made me feel claustrophobic.

I pushed her away, and apparently- that's when she 'snapped'. She announced that she couldn't handle it any more. To which I promptly retorted, "What? What?" I growled, "What can't you handle any more? Your 'genius' of a daughter? The innocence of your autistic son? The love of your devoted husband? Come on, mum; tell me. Tell me what you can't handle. I WANT TO HEAR YOU TELL ME!"

"Do not speak to me like that," My mother said in her warning tone.

I half scoffed and half laughed. "Don't tell me what I can and can't do. You haven't noticed me in a year. You just 'congratulate' me on good grades. You haven't done the 'authority's demand' for... B-But, oh no, I need to keep up with the pretence because then you wouldn't shut up if I _did_ slip up and get a bad grade! Right, mum? You said you want me happy- Do I look happy? WHY DON'T I LOOK HAPPY? Isn't it all just about '_grades_' to be happy?"

"I am still your mum and... it's disrespectful to talk to me like that! I'm not completely happy, sweetheart- either- because life is unfair and I've noticed you and Daddy unhappy-"

"Mum," I pressed my hands to my ears. "I don't want to hear this... You just..." I choked on my tears again. "You haven't..."

The fight continued. I guess I understood at the time that being irrational was not helping- it wasn't giving me any brownie points and it was just keeping the fight heated. Mum had started showing how she was more self centred by her views. It was because she was conflicted; she wanted us to be happy, but through that she created her own perfection imagination of the life that would contain _that_. It was a debate, and a loud one- one I did not enjoy for a second. I was dizzy from a headache when I eventually walked out of the room.

I continued crying when I realised that was the first time I fought with mum in a long time, and it was pretty bad.

I didn't care about school when everybody seemed to not notice me any more. I didn't care about grades any more since the more I wanted the better grades, the more I felt pathetic. The more I realised what little impact my 'genius' was doing to my parent's relationship. I wanted to just experience something new. I couldn't handle it- I wanted out of the world I created myself. I felt like puking when I saw the same four walls. The same furniture in the house. I've ran the streets for months at early morning; why not sleep there? My determination and will can give me strength.

I sobbed that night when I realised I forgot about taking Petey in that consideration.

_A/N: I'm sorry. I know it's dreadful. I'm not very focused right now- something is stopping me from being Astrid in this chapter. So, please, just let me know what you think, anyway. I had like 20 views on my previous chapter and it's only been a day. Thank you so much to the lovelies who have reviewed so far. You don't realise how much you make me smile. It's a reminder to post the next chapter- or improve more- and it tells me that my work is being read. _

_Everybody reading this right now: Please take care. Don't do something your future-self would regret; people do care. Re-check the important note I have in the slot that is supposed to be chapter one, in this story. There's two facebook pages that can you help you, if you need it. Stay strong, beautiful. Yeah, I'm talking to you, reading this now._

_P.S. Just out of curiosity- how old do you think I am?_


	4. Chapter Three: Brace Yourself

_A/N: at the introduction of this fanfic, I mentioned: 'I'd present warnings of what could be in each chapter, at the beginning in an author's note, to prepare anybody? I don't know- what's your opinions?' Basically, I'd warn in the beginning author's note if anything sensitive would appear in the current chapter, e.g. if a character death would occur. Nobody mentioned that they liked this idea or not, in a review, but I had a better response to this story than I thought I'd get, and I really appreciate it, seriously, thank you- so, I decided I will do that warning thing._

_P.S. I'm really sorry, though, if I miss anything in the warnings. I ain't perfect, here, so if I missed something and it affected you- let me know so I can go and edit that warning in case anybody else would come and randomly start reading my fanfic and stumble upon that chapter, you know?_

**WARNING: serious warning, here, guys- don't just ignore this. I'm warning here; this chapter will include: _depression_ and subtle _symptoms_, _self harm_- slight depth, _seconds from death_ and _depersonalisation_.**

_Chapter Three: Brace Yourself_

That morning, I hadn't exactly woken up.

I didn't remember falling asleep and I didn't feel rested. Irritatingly, I still had my headache from last night... I could say I felt guilty about the agruement, but other emotions overpowered that feeling. I shouldn't be the one guilty- I'm not ready for that stage yet; _I'm_ not going to apologise.

Aware that I don't pick fights with people- I don't crave yelling- I felt mild remorse. I lost a bit of myself last night, through the act of opening up. The statements I yelled- it opened up how I felt. Words blown away into the atmosphere that I can't ever take back; they'll be remembered by my mother, for sure.

Whats disheartening is how I feel. When you open up- even if you don't tell the secrets of your heart- if you say how you _feel_: aren't you supposed to feel _better_? A lift of weight off your shoulders? As I lay in bed, with a pounding behind my eyes: I felt more heavier than ever. Nothing changed. I opened up- she knows I feel bad now; but will it change anything? Will she do _anything_?

It's her decision. Personally, I think she's reacting this way because she's depressed. She lost her sister- everything seems to be falling apart. _I understand that_. Why can't we hug; be a support for each other, instead of making the other feel worse than we should?

With a bitter taste on my tongue, I felt like I just wanted to hold her and cry again. At the same time, I didn't want to even hear her voice that morning.

My body was rejecting me at this early hour. I got out of bed and my shoulder blade felt like it was constantly kicked throughout the passing hours. I wasn't sure how, but I also managed to give myself pins and needles up my arm. Blinking weird: I was fatigued. So when I walked into the kitchen, it was mere habit of me to glance out the window. I noticed mum's car was absent.

Ignoring the empty weight in my stomach, I reminded myself to be grateful that at least I wasn't dizzy. I need every rationalism and attention to study for my English exam tomorrow.

Whilst I was pouring myself water, I noticed how red my hands were. I wondered why- when I realised I was extremely hot. I thought about the blood pressure flowing beneath my skin, stretching towards the surface to release some warmth within it's constant concentration. I wondered how it'd look like if it was on top of the skin, all the work my cells focused on. I wondered how it would feel to pump outwards. I heard about it; cutting. I know about people who get addicted to it. I never wondered why... But I did now. And I sort of understood it, at least, I _thought_ at that moment I might've understood. I wanted to feel relief; I wanted to feel some prepared emotion, even if it was pain.

Little Petey was asleep. Dad was always at work early.

It was tormenting the first time. It made me cry, made me sob when I went to get changed into my school uniform. It didn't make me feel any better- especially when I saw the cuts for the next few days. I told myself I'd never do it again. I felt horrible about it, and I really disliked having to wash the knife. The knife, which sole purpose was to cut into food... Not skin...

Maybe it was stupid. I could already hear my mum yelling about me; '_how could you manage to be a teacher's pet and still do the most idiotic thing when it comes to your health?_' she could say. Is it even worse, that I don't find it stupid? Not yet, it's too early for that... Horrible-related-feelings, wrong, unhelpful, yes... But...

It made me feel guilty that I wasted time- because I didn't go for a jog that morning. And jogs tend to have the same affect on me. Why didn't I just go for a jog? _What happened_ in that 5 minutes gap? I couldn't tell you, because it happened so fast that I almost didn't understand what was happening. Dangerous, it made me feel untamed- and for a little amount of time- I enjoyed that freedom.

About four and a half weeks later, I sat on a bus. It should have been a normal day. But the bus driver had a heart attack. An actual, real-ohmyGodwhatishappening-heart-attack. By the time I looked up from whatever book I was reading, somebody had already taken control of the situation. It was a boy. It was a _kid_. A kid drove a bus; having never even driven a car, he should have been terrified- and instead, he saved everybody from falling over a cliff from the road.

I realised, then, that life was too fragile- too precious. _Delicately_ fragile.

I realised, then, I wanted to feel _alive_ again.

I wanted to do something _brilliant_; say something great; change lives for the better. Like Sam Temple did. But I had wasted time. I was busy being self indulgent and wasted so much time of my life that I'll never get back. Thoughts I'll never forget or come back from, that were pointless...

And all I remembered, gaping from my book on the bus, was two things: that I was still breathing, seconds away from death, perhaps. What would have happened if Sam was scared or _hesitated_?

The second thing I remembered, in my shock on that seat of the smelly bus, was that desperation I felt when I cut. I didn't think of the pain or how bad I felt afterwards- I just remembered how desperate I was. And irrationally, I felt it again. Was there a trigger involved? I couldn't understand what was happening, it almost froze me. I didn't understand how all of a sudden, after almost four weeks of actually feeling guilty about it- I was craving it, again. What was the trigger? How did this come to be?

Nobody around me noticed me. It was as if none of their instincts went on adrenaline with a person they knew, who was sitting seconds away from them, was engaged with these dangerous thoughts. How is it possible that a bird a few metres away didn't cry in pain with my heart?

When I came home from school, mum and dad weren't home.

Little Pete was taken to dad's work that day.

There was the same knife (I know it because it had a chip in the handle since we first brought it, though I don't care to remember how it got chipped)- near the kitchen bench; cleaned and dry. When mum and dad came home they didn't say a word to me. I heard mum crying to dad that night about the fight we had, so I wasn't really shocked. Just disappointed about her unreason to listen to my previous pleas.

They saw me sitting in the kitchen area, on the floor, with my English textbook and about everything else known to man to help with studying for English, surrounding me. What they didn't notice was that I was wearing long pyjama pants when yesterday I was wearing a nightgown. What they also didn't notice was that a kitchen knife, still in the same position near the kitchen bench as it had been for days, was suddenly dripping tap water.

That continued for the next week. Until... Abruptly, somehow without me trying, I noticed how calm school was getting. Most assignments out of the way and done, finished, completed, over and concluded.

When I noticed that my parents stopped fighting as much and I couldn't decide if it was for my sake or not... When I realised that Sam Temple kept flirting with me... When it abruptly, _honestly_ hit me that my classmates _hadn't_ verbally teased me in weeks and weeks...

That's when I realised that cutting was a bad decision, more personally than I had just stated previously. For all anybody else knows, it never happened. Being 'Astrid the genius' I understood that it didn't help or change any of my problems- it was an option, but not a solution. For weeks after I stopped I got paranoid about blood poisoning.

Being stubborn and the 'genius' that I am, I decided _I_ could save myself. I decided that, yes, I can dream and I can change whatever I don't like in this life I created myself. To start, if I tried, I knew I could stop self harm. It wasn't until then, when I cognised that somehow I had increasingly liked the impact of self harm since I had first started. It was scary- I felt like I trapped myself in a cage of depersonalisation with that fact.

After a while, after it was weeks of not touching a knife, it also seemed like a calm washed over me. It took a long, dreadful and foreboded feeling of calm- like it was wrong- because it felt different, almost like I was forced into a different body. I stopped fussing over my parent's lives, which made me notice how much I used to actually state my opinion out loud so much. I stopped searching for attention without actually doing anything, everywhere I looked and breathed. I got back into the habit of caring about education again and I continued on hoping for the next day.

I never stopped to question my faith.

Sometimes, I did question if I liked Sam. With all the pressure, sometimes it felt good to think about if I did give in. I knew he was probably an alright guy- I could hope that if I did fall for him, he could support me. His warm hugs could do that alone. I couldn't tell if I honestly liked him or not because I was still trying to avoid the decisions I had made previously. I was worried that if I questioned and considered it for too long, it might pressure me back to the knife and I was desperate to forget that part of my decisions in life...

I wondered if I just wanted affection. Some nights I crawled into bed, and despite the changes I pursued in, I still felt like something was missing. I would feel like crying, and it was in those moments where I questioned my classmates and Sam. Perhaps I was just feeling lonely.

Little Pete continued being the solid rock for me. I stopped getting frustrated around him because obviously I wasn't getting an answer. After a while I'd have to have observed that it obviously it wasn't his fault. After I tried accepting that, it was simpler (not necessarily easier) to enjoy Little Pete's presence with the lack of desperate expectations.

I realised the strength humans have. How everybody has a history, a story, a life within a life of a life... Secrets. Hope. Dreams. I realised I craved that. So, instead, I tried to move on. I wondered about if I wanted a wedding. I wandered about if I wanted to have kids- which, I decided, that no, not really... I _can't_ decide that presently.

The more time that passed since I self harmed, the more it made it unproblematic to continue walking through school and studying because I didn't feel like I was a time bomb. The more time that passed since I self harmed, I felt exhausted because it was still in my memories- it's hard to move on from. I felt slightly weak sometimes because I was pretty positive that I was actually commencing into Depersonalisation.

Sometimes, sometimes, when I miss or think about it, I feel like I wasn't actually walking through solid hallways or breathing- but I felt alive, I felt like I could _define my_ limitations, if I tried. I was hoping; and I comprehended that was _better_. I liked to think I was improving. That was good enough for me- I had to remind myself of that, even though I didn't like to admit it was a challenge. I'm supposed to be 'Astrid the genius.'

The morning it happened, I was feeling better than I had in a long time.

It had been about eight months since I self harmed myself, so I was walking through the hallways towards my next class, just remembering how I felt when I placed the object to my skin. I was beginning to accept that I couldn't ever _forget_ it. I felt like crying... But it _didn't feel like me_. It felt like I had somebody else's memories. Another life. _Not_ me.

I had braced myself. 8 months clean, but my problems didn't completely go away. My friends? They weren't available, it wasn't real anymore. My mother, at least, left me alone. She was irascible- of course; she was hurt. She was snapping at everything and anything, but... She wasn't pressuring me, and that was good enough for me.

I braced myself in case life got hard again. Life isn't easy. I had a feeling anything could happen. I was hoping I'd be strong enough to handle it.

What I didn't prepare for, happened. There's no amount of preparation that could stop you from the shock and emotions you'd experience, on the morning it happened. I was slapped into _real_ depersonalisation without escape or realisation, completely out of balance when all of a sudden the really annoying squeal on the whiteboard went silent with the drop of the chalk. In the blink of an eye, life was gone. Perhaps, not terminated, but _missing_. I sat there, not trying to understand what happened- because I was in shock.

_A/N: Everybody reading this right now: Please take care. Don't do something your future-self would regret; people do care. Re-check the important note I have in the slot that is supposed to be chapter one, in this story. There's two facebook pages that can you help you, if you need it. Stay strong, beautiful. Yeah, I'm talking to you, reading this now._

_A bit of an intense chapter. I'm sleep deprived and distracted right now (strangely, the song Get Out Alive by Three Days Grace just came on. Anybody else a 3DG fan? *smiles sweetly*) so the chapter might be boring at the end or not very good in description and explaining. I'm not really proud of this chapter, I could do better, I guess. But then it'd be a while until I'd upload this chapter because I'd re-arrange everything and I figured, maybe, you could pity me? No? Okay, moving on- I felt guilty for making you wait._

_I mean, this is the last chapter I had ready. I now have no plan and no other chapters for the rest of this fanfic, so I knew if I delayed this, you'd want to wait even longer to continue... So, I'm sorry if I offended anybody in this chapter. Listen, writing allows me to communicate with my reviewers (I like talking, as you can tell from this long a/n) and it allows me to enjoy writing, to get into different perspectives and to... Escape reality for a while, I guess. And Astrid's character interests me. It just feels like there's so much we don't know- and I'm not just saying that because Sam's the main character..._

_P.S. Just out of curiosity- how old do you think I am?_

_P.s, again- who got Light? Is Light out? I haven't gotten it yet... If anybody has it, let me know what you think so far? I mean, don't spoil anything for me... Just... I guess I'm excited to get my hands on it, haha._


	5. Chapter Four: Before And After

**WARNING: This chapter will include- _Symptoms of _****_depression, __subtle hints at self harm desires, reference to death and_ _depersonalisation_.**

_Chapter Four: Before And After_

Silence wasn't that much difference before and after. For example, I was the only one who would gingerly speak besides the teacher and that was rare for only simple statements. After all, it's only _Maths_. The other two students in the classroom didn't have much to say this time because this was the first lesson we were learning about polynomials. It's harder for them since they deal with dyslexia.

I don't like to think about my past year much because I'm trying to move _forward_ and sometimes thinking about it brings all the emotions back. However, maths was the _complete_ opposite of emotions and history and life: it's stable and factual. That might be one reason why I couldn't quite avoid my memories today- it's _my_ life. Entering into the classroom with visions of the blade on my arm from eight months ago, I was already feeling sensitively exposed. The hush in the room didn't help. It just made it all feel unreal, like this was some form of a terrible cartoon I was watching from the outside window.

I was just about to shake off the thoughts and pick up my pen to start writing what my teacher was putting on the board. But it was like my cartoon actually caused some commotion out of my imagination because when I looked up- in front of my eyes- I just saw empty air drop the chalk with a dull noise to the ground.

The silence wasn't that much different before and after.

I sat there for a moment, trying to understand whether I felt amused, confused or scared; until I noticed breathing was getting louder in the room. Looking around, the space looked too hollow and tight simultaneously with only me occupying it.

"What's going on?" I spoke out loud, paranoid about exposure but wanting to hear a human's voice. Alas, there was no answer. Despite being 'Astrid the genius' I was disheartened when I didn't hear a separate voice. I expected to receive a reaction that never came in that room.

I couldn't believe this is happening: how did my whole class just disappear? How am I the only one left?

Eventually, I stood up- the noise squeaking from the chair made me all but run for the door.

Nobody was in the hallway, either.

I needed the reassurance of somebody else in year 9- their the oldest in this school along with me, so I felt I needed to stick with them. Regardless of how I've felt the past year, I felt some form of familiarity- some bond- with that thought.

The disgruntled sentiment I've had only increased since even before class, making me feel like a vulnerable presence. Placing my hand on the doorknob that I knew some lesson contained 9th graders... I hesitated. I had an awful feeling- like this was real, but what if it wasn't and I strode into the classroom resembling a psychopath?

Everything around me was still, but I noticed details. It was as if I was having symptoms of pre-anxiety attacks: I felt a blockage in my throat, everything- even my surroundings gave off a sense of foreboding, and my left leg was shaking slightly. However, I've actually experienced an anxiety attack before and it didn't seem like I was reliving one at _that_ present time.

I could see a mark- like from a shoe- on the floor. I could see a pen lid in the middle of the hallway. The light was too bright from the window that had a cut at the top of the curtains, hanging from the corner of the said window. I could perceive some distinct conversation from behind the wall...

My curiosity was too much to resist- I had to know what's happening. With a large exhale, I opened the door and stepped into the classroom, my eyes not really comprehending what I was seeing. I wasn't sure what I was expecting- but there wasn't any teacher in the classroom. The class, itself, seemed to be split in half and I felt like I was the enemy because every single pair of eyes instantly gripped onto me with huge circles with confliction and-

"Where's your teacher?" I asked them. They didn't look quite ready to stop gaping at me, like they've never seen me before. Though I needed to know that my panicked mind wasn't overlooking a teacher in the room... I needed to know I wasn't the only one encountering whatever this is. This whole scenario seems like a storyline out of a science fiction movie...

Most of the student responded by shrugging, and then that's when I saw the foolish expressions on some of their faces. Their faces showed signs of disbelief- and that's when I figured I didn't _imagine_ what happened. They couldn't believe it either; they think it's funny... Unreal... It was obvious when Quinn stated, "He poofed."

Mary, however, looked a little pale as she said in slight shock, "Isn't he out in the hallway?"

Almost feeling sympathetic to her, I shook my head as if I understood. "Something weird is happening. My math study group... There were just three of us, plus the teacher. They all just disappeared."

In my distress, I only noticed that Sam Temple was in the room, when he spoke, "What?"

"What about your teacher?" Edilio asked.

"She's gone, too," I said with a bitter aftertaste. It felt too much like sensitive answers- '_gone_' seemed to be a word that can represent...

"Gone?" Mary mumbled, looking around her like she was looking for her best friend for support.

"Poof," Quinn repeated himself, but his expression and tone was suddenly morbid. The abrupt change in his reaction sent a shiver through my spine. Or perhaps it was the distant car alarms that chilled me. I noticed the look on everybody else's faces when they started apprehending the noises from beyond the school. Sam was one of the first, he stood up and froze. Everybody froze.

Like he had a plan, he set his jaw and moved towards me. I stared, like everybody else, as afterwards his best friend Quinn stood up and quickly followed. The rest of the class exchanged looks and about three of them slouched forward, touching their face in something similar to despair.

I glanced back from the doorway and saw Sam and Quinn look through the hallway.

When I walked out, I noticed a kid with a mixed giddy and scared expression peeking out of the door down- room 213. You could practically feel the instant the whole school got over _their_ shock and the reactions exploded in _each_ classroom. You could hear some occasional- and disturbingly- loud laughter through the walls. It was suddenly interrupted by a _louder_ commotion of sixth graders gathering out of their class. As they realised we were watching them, they stopped as if we were going to tell them off for 'ditching their lesson.'

Not saying anything to the younger students, Sam got a strange expression on his face as he tentatively moved towards my classroom. Maybe it was because I knew him, or maybe it was because he seemed to be more brave than I at that moment, or I expected my classmates and teachers to be laughing out of their seats in Maths when I returned- but I followed him, next to Quinn.

I felt the giddiness when Sam pushed the door open. I even broke into a half smile when I waited that second; a clear image of my classmates sitting in their chairs, it was almost like they were actually there. For about a millisecond. And then I noticed the half 'o' on the board and I felt the giddiness make my heart pound and my arms feel heavy with pins and needles. I was scared and my thoughts were racing- I _didn't_ _understand_.

Nobody replied.

That made me feel even more anxious, like I was almost shaking- when I realised... I hadn't opened my mouth to begin with. Needing to comprehend- needing some logic in this mysterious circumstances, I stated, "She was writing the word 'Polynomial.'"

"Yeah, I was going to guess that," Sam said, with some amusement and dryness to his voice.

"I had a polynomial once," Quinn said, looking out the window, trying to be lighthearted. "My doctor removed it."

I placed my hand on my hip and almost snapped, "She disappeared- in the middle of writing the 'o'... I was looking right at her."

Sam's head turned to the board and I saw his eyes drop to the ground as he pointed to the chalk. Quinn scratched his shoulder, moving uncomfortably and finally admitted, "this is not normal."

Sam glanced at me. I couldn't tell the emotion on his face- but then he glanced at Quinn again and said, "The other two kids, plus the teacher, are gone. All except Astrid... That's definitely not normal."

I crossed my arms and stared intently at Quinn, waiting for a response from him. It wasn't until Sam faltered over my name when I remembered he apparently liked me. He never spoke it out loud but... Not even that makes sense! How could somebody _like_ me? It's just weird to imagine- especially from School Bus Sam the Hero. Especially in the situation where human beings have magically vanished during _school_.

Quinn looked at me and then Sam and then everywhere else. He looked suddenly really cold, replying, "Yeah. Kind of quiet in here, brah. Okay... I'm ready to wake up now..."

I opened my mouth to say something, but I'll never know what I was going to say because all I remember was the sudden slap of adrenaline and rushed panic that connected between Sam, Quinn and I as we all ran out of the classroom, managing to open the door and burst into the hallway. I could feel my leg shaking again as the scream continued. And this scream, I analysed, was _not_ coming from my throat- but it felt so furious it felt like I was pouring from my mind.

Some girl was gripping her phone like she was trying to not smash it against a wall. She cried out, "There's no answer. There's no answer! There's nothing..."

I didn't notice the freeze of movement between everybody- every single kid surrounding the hallway, almost like most years bundled together in the now constricted space- because I felt the object taking up space in my own pants. I felt the urge to whip out my phone: I'd definitely be able to call somebody, right? It's not like everybody's phone has suddenly been zapped into the twilight zone, right? But the thought of taking my phone out of my pocket felt too real- what if something is _dreadfully wrong_?

I couldn't do anything. I was hopeless, as everybody started complaining as if we were all playing in the playground and the ball flew too far away.

"It's not doing anything."

"My mum would be home, she would answer. It's not even ringing."

I wanted to say something, but I couldn't tell whether my mouth was open or not. What _could_ I say that nobody else was thinking?

"Oh, my God: there's no Internet, either! I have a signal, but there's nothing."

"I have three bars."

"Me too, but it's not there."

I rubbed my hands, breathing in deeply. I tried to ignore everybody and close my eyes, but I didn't want to look away from the human faces. I was all too aware of the dryness of my mouth and the blood pulsing in my arms. I was all too familiar with this trapped feeling, and I didn't like it.

I looked down at the ground and frowned. Attempting to settle my thoughts, everybody else continued stating the state of their phones. I heard the words 911 and numbnuts, but I focused on what I knew. _Teachers are intelligent- they are trained and practically lived in these walls for a long time. The students who grow up here, are maturing and-_

"I've gone through half my speed dials and there's not anything," somebody called.

All I learnt from what she said was the desperation. The need to escape this school, get help. I was feeling lost as well, and I felt like I needed to _seriously release_ that...

I swallowed and felt Sam moved in his stance next to me. I glanced away from him and saw Orc. _Orc would love this_, I thought, _all the mature and old people gone from bossing us around._ It was like a child's dream; having teachers suddenly gone from checking homework they 'left at home.' Gone, missing, replaced homework abandoned...

As long and abrupt as a time bomb; the alarm rang from the ceiling and some as a whole flinched. Nobody noticed I flinched too.

I closed my eyes. I didn't understand how I was feeling. I was angry at this mishap. I was frustrated we were abandoned to feel this way. I was confused at what was going on. Of everything, I knew I wasn't the _only_ one feeling this way- but I _felt_ ignored. I wanted to make myself known but I was scared, too, I didn't know what to do or say...

"There must be somebody in the office," somebody called out. "The bell went off."

I went to say how that didn't matter, when Howard beat me to it. In an annoyed voice he shortly explained, "it's on a timer, moron."

I looked at the kid who called out and remembered it was supposed to be lunch now. The teachers would be coming out of the classrooms to eat their lunch in the... "They have a TV in the teacher's lounge," I said out loud.

The rush to the teacher's lounge- the search for the remote- the despair through the blank screen channels, seemed to go past in a weird slow and fast motion. Sam started talking to some fifth graders. The group looked like they just came off their favourite roller coaster and ate all their Halloween candy. I realised I was hungry.

Restless and reckless- everybody was chaos... Around me... It was because there was no _authority_-

"I guess it's wrong to ask them to bring me a Twix," I heard Sam mutter.

Age creates authority, I noted as I looked up at Sam... "Fifteen."

"No man, they were, like, ten."

Blinking, I vaguely remembered the young faces of the group. "Not them. The kids in my class. Jink and Michael. They were both math whizzes, better than me, but they had LDs- learning disabilities, dyslexia- that kept them back. They were both a little older. I was the only fourteen year old."

"I think maybe Josh was fifteen, in our class."

"So?" Quinn asked.

I didn't want to response because I didn't know how to say 'well, I think everybody over the age of 15 has vanished' without placing myself as an insane outcast. I looked around the corridor, as if I'd find the resolution.

"So he was fifteen, Quinn." I felt my hand twitch a little. I was worried- is Sam thinking what I'm thinking? Does that make it plausible? What if something happened- Nuclear wise- and now we're all on a time limit? What if slowly people will start vanishing down the line of age? How can we stop that? "He just... Just disappeared. Blink and he was gone," Sam added without doubt.

Quickly, Quinn shook his head, "No way! Every adult and older kid in the whole school just disappears? That makes no sense."

"It's not just the school," I guessed out loud.

I also guessed that was the wrong thing to say at the time because a scared-made-angry Quinn snapped at me, "What?"

Partly provoked I responded, "The phones and the TV?"

"No, no, no, no, no," Quinn started. He was shaking his head, half smiling, like he'd been told a bad joke.

There was a dramatic pause, where I saw the expressions change in the faces around me. Somehow, it reminded me- like a bird out of the window looking in- about depersonalisation. I never managed to confront my dad about it, so I never managed to go to the doctors and find out if I had it or not. I'm just a child, not a doctor- I don't know if it's even _possible_ for me to have depersonalisation... But the faces around me, the rapid changes and the seemingly unreal reactions and situation, didn't help my emotions nonetheless.

"My mum," Sam said.

"Man, stop this," Quinn said. "Alright? It's not funny."

I focused on Sam: the boy in my memories I always associated with the bravery on the bus with the driver who had a heart attack- even if it was a year ago. In front of me now, he _still_ looked brave. His eyes downcasted and it looked like he was breathing a bit more haphazardly, but he's handling this well. Not spoken out loud, but perhaps he agrees with me. He's brave to accept that... _If_ it's true...

I was almost worried about when he glanced up again. I was worried about the _expectant_ stare towards me, but instead he took a shaky breath and assured, "we have to check this out."

That's when I heard the sobbing-sounding breath from Quinn. That's when I recognised that I was standing in the middle of two best friends. I'm actually the castaway- I don't belong in the middle of them. I've hardly spoken to them, really. They're probably just being nice to me because-

"Get off me, brah," Quinn snapped again. "I have to go home. I have to see."

"We all have to see, but lets go together." Sam's grip on Quinn's shoulder tightened when he started to move away. "Quinn. Together. Come on, man, it's like a wipeout, you know? You get launched, what do you do?"

"You try not to get worked up."

"That's right. You keep your head straight through the spin cycle. Right? Then swim towards daylight."

"Surfing metaphor?" I asked as I noticed the noises down the hallway getting more wild.

"Ok, yeah," Quinn replied. "You're right. Together. But my house first. This is messed up. This is so messed up."

A second later, I heard Sam call my name. He looked awkward, but I was too busy trying to figure out what to do. I was worried because I felt like I was missing something- something I'm supposed to do.

"Come with us, Astrid, okay?" Sam said. "We'll be safer together."

_A/N: "Maybe it's not always about trying to fix something that's broken… Maybe it's about starting over and creating something better." I don't know who made this quote, but, I think it's true. I'm basically trying to tell you to 'just keep swimming'- stay strong._

_On other, less intense news- did you notice the chapters keep getting longer? Hah, I'm proud of myself, actually. I didn't think this fanfic would be any form of successful... But... This chapter? I don't like it. I don't think it's good at all, bit I'm having serious author's block on it, so figured I'll just let you have what I got on it. I know Astrid seems out of character, but I promise there's reasons. I'm going to try and slowly make her get out of the shock and whatever, and then as soon as possible __make her become the Astrid we were introduced and learnt in the actual gone series._


	6. Chapter Five: What Is Feelings?

_Heeeeelllloooooo universe! You are currently reading a greeting from a human through a screen of technology._

_So... this chapter was a pain to edit because my drafts just seemed so boring to me... To me. Who knows, maybe I've just been staring at the same chapter so many times that just so happened. Ugh, 'Author's Block- yaaaaay' - said... nobody. Nobody I've met, anyways._

_Once I started re-editing now, which shall be the last time before I _finally_ post this, Three Days Grace's song 'Get Out Alive' shuffled on. I think it suits the chapter, maybe. Perhaps if you like their music, play it, and let me know if it actually does..._

_Funny story- I went back a chapter or so, looking for the previous warnings I wrote, just in case I missed anything... And I noticed I had also mentioned something about Get Out Alive then. Maybe it's just a song that magically pops up when I start getting the motivation to continue these chapters. I swear I love other songs by Three Days Grace!_

_... Yeah, see? Told you it was a funny story._

_*dramatic sigh* confession: sleep. I need it. Soon, clearly..._

**WARNING: This chapter will include- subtle symptoms of depression and depersonalisation, self harm and emotions of abandonment.**

_Chapter Five: What Is Feelings?_

I think the most alarming part was when Quinn started sprinting. Across the road he previously pointed no moving vehicles in sight- he walked so causally I almost didn't perceive he was legitimately accelerating ahead of us seconds later.

Without hesitation, both Sam and I followed suit.

"Mom. Dad. Mom. Hey!"

By the time we reached the doorway, I could distinguish Quinn's sobbing. Even though we don't converse copiously and Sam's his best friend... We all had the same worries, corresponding thoughts in that house. It wasn't positive. None of us knew how to cope with it- the grief, when it wasn't even clear that anybody died. We had just the sense of solitude and conundrums.

With shades on Quinn's eyes, I felt out of place, the tears swimming down his cheeks. It was such a peculiar persona to the Cool Quinn I regularly saw at school. It made me wonder how they would react if _my_ past was uncovered. I was beginning to ponder exactly _how_ my secrets would be revealed to _anybody_, when Quinn made a noise, distracting me.

"She's not here, man. She's not here! The phones are dead. Did she leave a note or anything? Do you see a note? Look for a note."

I suppressed a sigh, figuring that since we weren't prepared for the 'poof', neither would Quinn's mother. I glanced to the side and flicked a light switch. "The power is still on."

The fact power was still on slightly abashed me. Perhaps finding a note _would_ be comforting, but then Sam and I would expect one for ourselves. And when none of us get one...

"What if they're dead?"

I froze.

"This can't be happening," Quinn continued. "This is just some kind of nightmare or something. This... This isn't even possible!"

I shuttered a breath under my nose. It wasn't like I hadn't considered people died but to express it out-loud makes it a theory that I didn't want to evaluate the realism from. We need to handle it step by step, before trying to unravel the harder steps- that I knew. _That_ I understood.

I stopped listening to whatever Quinn was saying, because it was building my agitation. I couldn't open my mouth to speak due to my mind racing with almost angry cogitations. I was flustered... Frustrated... But after running and listening to Quinn's house: I wasn't quite ready to be furious yet. I still had the sense of eeriness.

I remembered yesterday around this time, I walked into lunch silently begging to be home. Yeah, my months have improved- but yesterday I was _just tired_. I wanted to spend time with Petey. Unfortunately, this time, today, I'm in an-almost-stranger's house wondering where my younger brother could be.

_How could I have forgotten about my brother in this time of confusion? _That's what I had needed. I need to find-

"I had a fight with my dad last night," Quinn said.

I swallowed dryly, frowning. Maybe Quinn wanted consulting from Sam, but the words slipped out of my mouth without regret- "Oh, no, don't start thinking that way. One thing we know: you didn't cause this. None of us caused this." After hiding a hesitation, I stepped forward and placed my hand on his shoulder. It didn't surprise me that he started sobbing again, dropping his shades on the floor. I figured it was better he cried then; when I expected it- other than when I don't and...

I'm not ready to cry now. It won't work. I can't.

"It's going to be okay," I added.

Sam is Quinn's best friend; I assumed he'd try and hug Quinn- present a better speech than mine. Instead, he agreed, saying, "Yeah, of course it is... This is just some..."

I lifted my hand off Quinn's shoulder as he rapidly gazed up- the expression in his eyes could've resembled hope, but to me it looked _wild_. I understood why when he suggested, "maybe it was God. It was God."

"Maybe," Sam said, but his tone sounded slightly disturbed. I couldn't, personally, find anything advantageous and optimistic from what we were experiencing. If Sam wasn't going to say anything about it, I saw no harm in allowing Quinn to discover his own theories to remain tranquil and blithe. I was almost jealous at the speed Quinn could relieve himself from this incongruous nightmare.

"What else could it be, right? S-so-so-" Quinn swallowed his panicked stutter and added, "so it'll be okay. Duh, of course it'll be okay. It'll totally be okay."

There was half a minute of silence, where I wondered how I _should_ react. I didn't fathom what the appropriate emotion was anymore.

Then, Sam shifted in his stance and looked gingerly at me. "Astrid's house next. She's closer."

For me, time seemed to prolong.

It took a moment to realise the stalkerish-tone of his statement. It contributed to the awkwardness- the disturbance of the afternoon overall. Carefully, I asked, "you know where I live?" I tried not to sound like I was going to run within a second of his response. Sam seems like a good enough guy- maybe he saw me one time on a specific bus...

Maybe I didn't want to believe Sam would stalk me. I didn't think I could handle any more intense news or conversations today. It must've seemed natural at the time but it was strange how quickly I fatigued. Later that night I would brood over how my feelings affected me at that moment- how efficiently I allowed myself to be overwhelmed and feel like I was exhausted.

I wanted to ignore everything and sleep. Wake up and continue doing homework for my teacher who _will_ be in class tomorrow, I told myself.

"I probably saw you one time," Sam said at last. He sounded so calm about it, it seemed like he was telling the truth- or at least, a semi-truth. I also decided that I'd inquiry him about it later.

I walked into the house. My house- a house where I spent countless nights crying, because of my personally emotional afflictions. If there was one thing that I would try to remember clearly from these familiar walls: it's the cute memories spent with my brother.

My brother: who I may or may not see again... _What was the last thing I said to him? The last time I saw him... Was I smiling at him?_

Everywhere I looked I saw signs of Little Pete. And I also saw the looks on Quinn and Sam's faces. I could see them assessing my house; they've never been here before. "It's not for me," I said as if I needed to. Of course Sam and Quinn would know the child-proofs wasn't for me. But I had to say _something_. "It's for Little Pete."

Sam nodded and glanced around like he understood what it all meant. "I know. He's..."

"He's autistic." I paused and then announced, "well... No one here."

I glanced around again- _there's no way I could've missed him_-

And then, Sam said blatantly, "Where's your brother?"

I was trying to resist the urge to rub my face in distress, when abruptly I heard a voice yell, "I don't know alright? I don't know where he is!"

Seeing the expression on their faces made me feel like crumbling. They were surprised- like I had _emotions_ and _could_ yell. That moment probably lasted about a second, but it caused me to cover my mouth with my hand. _Yelling- why didn't yelling work? _I could feel the panic rising in my throat.

I preferred the eeriness. Not panic. The panic felt final.

"Call to him?" Quinn suggested. I stared at him, hearing the caution on his voice. I thought it might've been aimed at me considering I shouted, but Quinn looked distant. He was embarrassed about his own personal crack. If I was honest- it didn't seem like he was through with freaking out.

Following Quinn's idea: staying calm was the best strategy, currently. _If I freak out- the solutions won't end up as best as they could be_. I already learnt what my irrationality could create.

So, rubbing my arm and looking into their eyes, I stated, "Call to him? He won't answer; he's autistic," I gritted my teeth. "Severely. He doesn't... He doesn't relate. He won't answer, alright? I can yell his name all day."

When Sam said- 'it's okay, Astrid. We're going to make sure.' I felt like he thought I was going to go deranged. I sounded like I was trying to conserve my control. I wondered how I looked.

"If he's here, we'll find him," Sam added.

I wasn't sure what I was doing wrong- and what I was doing right.

I craned my neck to look at the clock. When the numbers looked blotty that's when I realised I had tears in my eyes.

_Tears?_

People know me as Astrid the genius- I knew I couldn't show Quinn and Sam my tears in my own house. Therefore, I moved first: heading everywhere, again. They followed suit; looking under beds, in closets- anywhere and everywhere a child could fit and be concealed.

Increasingly anxious, I forced Quinn and Sam to walk across the street. Across the street was a lady that sometimes would take care of Little Pete.

To be fair, my memory of that moment was '_run, check, Little Pete, old lady- other house- go- wait- go- now_' so I didn't technically force Quinn and Sam to come with me. I don't remember even speaking to them of it, so they probably deliberated that I was actually abnormal; striding out of my house, having not found Petey yet.

Eventually with no luck so far, I stopped in front of my house for the third time this afternoon, and took a deep breath. _Okay_, I reminded myself. _It's a pretty big town for such a small guy: you'll find him if you stay calm._ "He must be with my mum. Or maybe my dad took him with him, to the plant. He does that when there's no one left to babysit."

Maybe it was because we were searching around an half hour since the sudden disappearances, but then I heard a heavy sigh from Quinn and Sam spoke up. It was what I expected to hear minutes and minutes of minutes earlier, "lets keep moving. Don't worry about little Pete."

There was something about that statement that made me somehow snap. Perhaps I was triggered from the instant I saw my teacher vanish in air- or perhaps earlier in the day- but I couldn't take it anymore. There was too many questions I didn't comprehend, making me feel emotions I _couldn't_ label. For my family. _Where are they?!_ I couldn't stop wondering about if I made them happy or disappointed the last time we spoke or saw each other...

It made me feel so gut wrenched and fatigued... I willingly went numb.

Quinn was looking at me with a blank face and Sam was staring to his right.

In a steady voice I asked, "is that meant to be a pro forms reassurance or a specific commitment?"

Sam stared at me, "sorry?"

"No, I'm sorry. I meant, you'll help me find Petey?"

"Sure."

There was a pause where felt weird. I was feeling the state of numbness, but I also felt... Secure. Safe that maybe these two boys will stay with me, help me and I'll find Petey.

I took a deep breath, my mind felt like a rusty wheel that continued to roll down a hill. "I... I need a moment," I excused myself, walking back into the house- _my_ house.

I wondered what Quinn and Sam would be talking about outside on my lawn. For a moment, I was perturbed- considering one of the two could simply admit they didn't know me; I'm the outsider between them, and that that they just wanted to do it together. Without me.

But no... I couldn't focus on that.

I gripped the sides of the kitchen bench with my palms and let a moan escape. All my thoughts were '_I can't handle this. I don't understand_' on repeat. I wanted to cry, I wanted to have a little out burst so that I could get it out of my system and be 'Astrid The Genius', again. But the tears wouldn't come, the shock and the frustration wasn't allowing me to metamorphose into The Hulk. In fact- if it was in any way possible, I felt _dry_.

Purposefully taking huge breaths, I could feel it thundering in my chest. Behind my layers of skin was the lungs holding me alive in this juncture of desperation, _ignorant_ of the thoughts I'm feeling. In these lungs would be cells jumping to convert oxygen and carbon dioxide as quickly as my gasps; doing their job as they have been trained to do automatically since birth. A planned process; that was what I needed. I needed control, and I needed that release and quick process _now_.

In fact, I understood I was being incoherent: I wasn't thinking lucidly... But I felt _so_ _exhilarated_ at the thought of the sweet intimacy of _my_ blade.

I didn't have to think about the fact that I've been 8 months clean- _actually improving_ my health and happiness through time... I didn't have to consider how irrational this was- two strangers who might be willing to help me, outside my house waiting. They probably think I've come back inside to check something, or use the toilet.

So basically, I _can't_ waste time. I was almost giddy with anticipation by the time I grabbed my knife.

When I unintentionally glimpsed in the reflection of the microwave, my expression told a different story. I looked like I was going to cry, I looked... Depressed?

I shook my head: _no, no, I can't focus on that. I won't consider that-_

I took a slow, beautiful breath, placing the knife to my hand before letting out a shaky laugh.

"No," I said softly, _maybe_ I was even smiling.

My knees. I always did my knees.

Imposing my back to the cold surface of the drawers, I motioned to move my pants up when I halted.

I opened my mouth to call out- I could swear I apperceived a noise, but no words articulated from me. Was I in shock?

"Um... Astrid?" I heard Sam's tone of pandemonium reach me.

He was walking, and he would be passing the opening of the kitchen within seconds. I gripped the knife harder and stood up with my whole body protesting in bitterness. I managed to discard the knife back into the drawer and walk towards the gap from the kitchen by the time Sam came into view.

He gave me a strange look and asked, "hey, Astrid- what are you doing?"

"I..."

He observed passed me, over my shoulder at something. I couldn't help but imagine the drawer open. Did I drop the knife on the floor with my blood? I knew I hadn't even made contact with skin but... It was almost like my mind was _flooding_ out my desires through my ears and _Sam_ was _witnessing it._

"Are you okay?"

I nodded, looking away. "I need to find..."

Sam nodded his understanding. "Quinn's worried about you. You seemed like you were going to cry when you came inside."

I didn't reply, and I knew Sam was waiting for it. I gave a half smile and slowly walked to the front of my house yet again.

_A/N: Hmm... Did you really think, even for a second, that I was going to let her self harm? __Well, to be honest, she _was_ supposed to, but at the last moment I was like... No._

_And to be honest again; I don't like this chapter much. It's not my best, anyways. I don't like writing short chapters either, but you know what? I prefer to know what _you_ think. So leave me a review and let me know your opinions? Pretty please? (':_

_"The universe conspires to reveal the truth and to make your path easy if you have the courage to follow the signs." -Lisa Unger_

_^ takes me a while to understand that. It's deep stuff, but... You need to be patient. You are not worthless. Stay strong and you'll understand. People care: re-check 'the important note' I have in the slot that is supposed to be chapter one, in this story. There's two facebook pages that can you help you, if you need it._


	7. Chapter Six: Dimension Of Tolerances

**Warning: subtle hints at depression and depersonalisation, STRONG mentions of self harm and imagery.**

_Chapter Six: Dimension Of Tolerances_

Walking in front of strangers houses, the bright awareness consuming my mind was the admonitory deterring the knife from accessing my brain as cure.

Almost being confronted by Sam was the first instance I was interrupted. It was something I wished never occurred considering apart of me still _wanted_ to vent. But also because I felt I resembled a child reprimanded for eating ice cream before dinner. Despite feeling bitter, the circumstances reminded me of why self harm was _bad_...

Of course, I comprehended the repercussions of self infliction, but the fact that I assumed I had overcome it- didn't even really consider it for a few months... To simply _run_ for it within minutes with a internal desire and commitment... Resulted in _guilt_.

_Was I addicted? Was I still attached so deeply to it's danger? _Those thoughts alone made me realise how self harm had genuinely influenced me. I anticipated I was improving. I thought...

_Wasn't I happy? Didn't I have respectable days? Why wasn't that enough for my clean slate?_

Now? I lacked knowledge on what I desired.

_Is it possible that my legs were more noticeable and abruptly pulsing blood everywhere? How is that normal when I also felt queasy at the concept of witnessing blood?_

Typically the sight of blood doesn't phase me- in fact, there was a dark time I cherished it... But _now_, I didn't want to remember it.

I was morbid, walking opposite houses with strangers who might've died just hours prior _now_... _A sudden mass disappearance_. What stories did they have on these lawns I almost tripped over? What were they doing inside those walls? Their previous presence seemed to be judging me across the yards like _now_ the whole neighbour saw the knife in my hands...

_And I'm on watch._

I was staring at the ground when I had walked out of my house. Nobody said anything so it was too quiet for my pleasure. However, not an _awkward_ mood. Just silence where it was like we were quietly trying to find the _right_ _words_; kids trying to discover what to do next. It was in that moment where I had the urge to cry. I didn't feel 'dry' any more but instead pressured like a geyser.

If I allowed myself to cry, I accepted I'd start rambling in my logically-worded incoherent-mess about blades.

And they'd ask '_why_?'

So, no, they'll never know how close they were to doing so...

How close they were to salvaging my life from addiction in that lucid juncture of our existence. Somehow though, their presence managed to save me from diminishing into a willing pit of constant destruction, at the same time they prevented knowing about it.

_Sam nodded his understanding. "Quinn's worried about you. You seemed like you were going to cry when you came inside."_

It was Quinn who had changed the atmosphere, despite opening gingerly. "Sam? Guys?"

"I guess Sam's house now," I had said.

Plan of action was needed, even if I didn't understand what was happening, it seemed congruent to let Sam evaluate his house, after waiting for Quinn and I.

I didn't witness the expressions on their faces, so I was blissfully unaware of how quietly I had spoken the five words.

I proceeded my thoughts, my feeling of being 'watched', the feeling of _ignoring- _oh sweetly _ignoring_ the weight of silver that was in my hands- as I passed by the empty houses with windows as the owl's eyes. I wondered about various things- mostly avoiding, admittedly. That's when the next thing I knew was Sam was conversing to four youngsters.

Their innocence made me ponder how Petey would act once he'd be their age.

_Little Pete..._

Oh, but Sam was still blissfully unaware of my thoughts- my seemingly increasing despair _for_ my brother. He is _my_ brother and I need to know where he is, who is taking care of him... If that's even so. _My brother must be safe_, I thought, though I figured I wouldn't be satisfied until I actually held him in my arms.

I vaguely tried to focus as Sam said, "Maybe wait down at the plaza, right?" I could feel the pause. "Hey, don't get too upset, okay? You have any cookies or ice cream in the house?"

"I guess so," one of the kids replied.

"Well, there's nobody telling you not to..." Sam's voice trailed away as I panicked.

_Panic._

My chest: it feels my pumping is laboured. I can breathe but it feels like _doom_. I attempted concentrating purely on my breathing, but even though there seemed to be some form of high pressure plumping in my lungs and heart- I felt like I was _knocked_ with wind. Focused on my breathing, I didn't control my mind from flashing on _red_-

_Self harm..._ I felt agitation surge through my temple;_ I thought I had controlled it! Two seconds ago I wasn't feeling this_. _Why do I suddenly feel it like sharp-_

"... Have a cookie and then come down to the plaza," Sam finished.

My senses seemed to pick up- I could almost _taste _cookie crumbs and the smoothness of a melted chocolate chip cookie on my tongue, just as clear as I could feel a blade at my skin, lightly as death. With my mind cloudy, I knew I coherently spoke out loud, 'that's your solution? A cookie?' Everybody's expressions turned to me.

My throat felt notably dry and my head was commencing a tornado effect. _I needed out. _I could _feel_ the beauty of the silver in my hand.

I could just vaguely picture myself dropping the knife into the drawer in the kitchen- another image of Sam's face- unaware of the inner _battle_ he stumbled into the kitchen with. _Snippets of a memory. _

Logically, I knew they were accurate- but could the memory of the knife really be so vivid that I could tense it presently in palm?

I was battling a war- and I felt my heart painfully freak out again as I wondered if I spoke _appropriately_. I had to question whether I said 'cookie' or 'cut' out loud as _both_ were crying in my conscious.

Ah, I couldn't imagine the repercussions- the questions- the confusing shock on their faces if I said what I was viewing behind my eye lens...

_Red._

Get out.

_Blood._

_No..._

Run.

_Speak..._

_No blood._

_Comfort them- _

I'm not crazy-

_I am not crazy. I just need these thoughts to slow down..._

Those thoughts felt so altered and omnipotent it was like I could hear and feel and view my thoughts. Like different people howling it behind my irises.

"No," Sam said, "my solution is to run down to the beach, and hide out until this is all over. But a cookie wouldn't hurt."

_'I need another moment... Please, excuse me... _Anybody's_ house... Sharp... I _don't care_- I need it... Now... A__nother moment-'_ repeated in my conscious subconscious.

I was terrified; I could hear Sam and Quinn, but my senses weren't focusing properly. I doubted if I should be happy about the escape- _maybe I could faint_- but I was shaky of losing the _control_. I want the pain of my blade: _no_ other distraction...

I couldn't speak about it because I wasn't sure how to explain. Pretty positive this was an affect of stress, or panic- it was just _disparate _to me because I avoided feeling _these_ symptoms when I _used_ to have panic attacks, and even those weren't frequent.

I blinked slowly, and turned around with Sam and Quinn in front.

I could walk; I wasn't losing balance.

I _knew_ I was preluding to tears when my vision was abruptly bright and blurry. I didn't even care that I was crying around my school-mates: I was almost praying that this could be _enough_ for an outburst.

Regardless, it seemed to subtly calm me down- I focused on breathing _deeply_- but disciplinary. It gave me a headache but seemed to subdue the panic attack, which was the significant part.

I was able to focus the present moment of time: with Sam's stance as he walked, Quinn's occasional sniff as he tried to manage his own weeping- and I knew they were both aware of my crying. Sam didn't speak as he would already and Quinn glanced at me, every time he sniffed.

I was in a trance. It seemed like enough- so I figured, if I can stay calm,_ I can handle this_. 'This whole adult disappearing thing?' _We can figure it all out soon._ I'm 'Astrid the Genius', of course, I tried to motivate myself..._ All about control of the mind..._

I was also beginning to submit to self consciousness over my tears. That's why I wasn't aware that I was grimly smiling and that I didn't look properly to Sam's house. He said something like 'this is it, we don't believe in showing off a big house and all.' And I replied with something like, 'well, you live near Town Beach.'

"Yeah. Two-minute walk. Less if I cut through the yard of the house where the biker gang lives," Sam said.

It seemed so vividly odd to me- it suddenly occurred to me that Sam was _tolerating me._ We were having a _conversation_ and he _didn't_ seem like School Bus Sam or Sam-Who-Apparently-Likes-Me.

That's why it was also _very vividly odd _when he mentioned Biker gangs. I comprehended self harm was a taboo, serious topic, but I couldn't imagine somebody like Sam having contact to somebody who was in a gang.

"Not the whole gang, really, just Killer and his girlfriend Accomplice," Sam added to the silence. I didn't need Sam to explain himself to know that my expression was disturbed. I felt like I was suddenly a huge target in this street and my legs were now screaming to _run for hours_. That's when I realised... I didn't feel like self harming any more, I wanted an escape, but in the form of physical sprinting.

I couldn't very well do that whilst letting Sam have his turn at exploring _his house._

Bad timing, wrong place: my emotions felt like they _weren't logical._

Sam had added, "sorry. Bad joke..."

Could Sam tell he wasn't smiling _now_? I observed as Sam's face held his thoughtful expression. If I wasn't so focused on _staying calm_- I might've realised his hesitation. Quinn was glancing towards the neighbour's house and scratching his chin. He didn't look so freaked out any more, but I could sense the change as he wasn't acting smooth and taking.

I felt content at the sound of the humming refrigerator, the creaking of his stairs. It was a _home_, and even though I didn't know Sam, I imagined him laughing with his mother over some take away food in the kitchen.

Eventually, the three of us noticed the stove was on. A frying pan had burned black. There was nothing in the pan and Sam turned off the cooktop.

"This is going to be a problem all over town," he said.

"Yeah, stoves left on, cars running. Somebody needs to go around and make sure things are off and the the little kids are with someone. And there's pills, and alcohol, and some people probably have guns," I said with such calm tones that I decided I maybe was okay.

But I knew I was tired. Tired _already_.

_But I'm the 'Genius.' I can do this._

_Right?_

A/N:_ "Don't let a bad moment ruin your day. Think of it as a bad minute, not a bad day and you'll be okay. I promise." _I don't know who said this quote, but it has some accuracy in it. I know this was an intense chapter, but as Astrid is trying to improve her day and overcome her weaknesses and this 'adult disappearing thing' you can stay strong too. People do care, I promise. If you don't believe me... Why do you think I'm taking the time to write this author's note?

I'm sorry about this a chapter actually. I don't like it's size and it's overall... I just have really bad author's block on this story all of a sudden... But I haven't updated in a while,and I figured I might as well write something as a filter chapter. Also, I feel like this is more of a 'filter chapter' but it helps as I think next chapter Astrid will go back to her calculating ways, as it seems like she's already willing to escape this whole 'poof' thing.


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